


Broken Bottles and Broken Dreams

by HugsNotDrugs



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: AU sorta, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rick being a good grandfather, Self-Harm, Sleep Deprivation, Soft Rick, but like something's there honhonhon, ew fluff, like almost ooc, no actual incest, what are these tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 06:12:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13630329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HugsNotDrugs/pseuds/HugsNotDrugs
Summary: e d g yin which Rick has to comfort Morty after Beth drinks too much.its 2 am im a bit delirious, just prepare for fluff and angst





	Broken Bottles and Broken Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> saved as "HELP MEE" in docs
> 
> *khaled* another one
> 
> this one aint even incest honestly, and rick is kind of way too soft??? but c'mon his bby is hurting, something's gotta give
> 
> kind of an au where beth and jerry get divorced before rick comes back, at the time of the story they've only known each other for a few weeks
> 
> hhhh i spent way too long on this, and i was supposed to do a sequel for Run oops

Morty often hears the breaking of glass. Glass bottles, and wine glasses, to be exact. He hears it in the next room over with its thin paper walls, he hears his sister cry every night after their drunken mother comes into the room and screams at her for being alive. 

_You don’t fucking deserve to live! Do you know why I have to go to work every day unhappy, feeling like a failure, then coming home to see you! Every night I regret that I didn’t get that abortion!_

He hears the screams, but it has always been in the next room over. In the mornings he’d see the shattered glass on the floor and his sister curled up in bed, trying to catch up on lost sleep for school in the morning, but mostly stuck, a small bundle on the island that is her bed because of the glass shards around it, twinkling in the morning night. Morty would take a broom and a pan and start sweeping.

He’d hear it in his head and the words etched themselves into his skull, the hateful, pained words that take over the night like the smell of alcohol. It was worse, so much worse after the divorce and his mother became more and more unstable with time.

_Hang on, hang on._ He’d say, day after day to his sister. _It’s going to be okay._ But he watches as her eyes dim slowly, held by tired eye bags and feels inside that he is growing dim too, too dim to be the light she needed, until one day he couldn’t help her anymore and she leaves what used to be her home. 

_Sorry Morty._ She patted his head, a few inches lower than hers, putting a wad of cash from her part-time job into her bag.

_Don’t be, mom does that to people. I’ll miss you, though._ He said back.

_You don’t understand yet, but you will, and when you do, please don’t hate me._ Her blue eyes were flat as she gave Morty a final hug and left.

\---------------------------

“Where’d- where’d Summer go, Morty? Where did my- my fucking family go?” His mother was tall and threatening in the doorway, a bottle in hand already half gone. Morty didn’t know what to do. He just cowered in his bed, shrinking smaller and smaller as his mother advanced into his room, shrouded in shadows and cold eyes boring into his wide, fearful ones. 

His sister wasn’t there to protect him now. She had suffered more than she deserved, and now it was Morty’s turn to face his mother’s wrath. After Rick came back, it seemed as if things would get better. His mother’s mood considerably brightened every morning when her father had breakfast with them, and even complained less about work. It had been weeks since she’d gotten seriously drunk.

There was nothing to do, nothing to do as his mother slapped him in the head. It was so forceful that his head wrenched to hit the wall behind him. Skull pounding, Morty could only cry as she did it again and again, back and forth and it hurt, it hurt so much. He kept his eyes on the glass bottle, watching the liquid slosh inside. It was Hell to keep his eyes open to see his mother’s teeth grinding together, sharp hands striking him, but if she hit him with the bottle, it’d all be over, and at that point, he didn’t know if that was his greatest fear or hope.

A dangerous growl came from his doorway. “What the FUCK are you doing?” Morty’s previously-estranged grandfather, Rick, appeared with a flask of his own, wiping at the spittle lingering on the corner of his mouth and tucking the flask into his trousers. The tall scientist’s lab coat flapped starkly white with his powerful movements, like the robes of an angel in the darkness of Morty’s room. Morty made eye contact with the older male, pleading for help with wide eyes. Rick’s big arm grabbed his daughter by the torso, pulling her away from the shaking boy. God, he felt like such a boy. She was reduced to flailing limbs now, delirious and hitting at her father, but she wouldn’t win, Rick was too strong. 

“Morty, s-shit, grab her arm for me, won’t ya?” Morty reached out to secure his mother’s wrist, quaking violently at the thought of opposing her. Rick took out a syringe and injected it swiftly into a vein in his mother’s forearm. Morty watched as her eyelids drooped and her form sagged, sedated. Rick picked her up roughly with a murderous look in his eyes, dumping her in what used to be her and Jerry’s bed before mercifully setting a glass of water on the drawer next to the queen-sized bed.

As soon as Rick got back to Morty’s bedroom the boy rushed to the older man, hanging on to his guardian angel. Yes, the only one who protected him and loved him and made him feel safe. He clutched at Rick’s lab coat and cried, great sobs wracking his body as he repeated his thanks over and over again. Rick didn’t say anything, just sat as Morty slowly calmed down in his embrace, one ear against his grandpa’s chest, taking in the hard and steady rhythm thrumming through his ribcage.

“Feeling better?” Rick asked gruffly, nursing the recovering boy in his arm.

“Y-yeah...” Morty wiped at his nose, trying not to sniffle.

“I’ll leave you two pills, you lightweight.” Rick said with a grin, though there was nothing funny about it, ruffling the smaller boy’s hair. He left and came back with a cup of water and tucked Morty into bed, pausing for a moment before landing a soft kiss on the boy’s forehead with chapped lips that was reminiscent of better days when his mother still loved him.

\--------------------------

The nightmares were relentless, several in the same night creating a loop of terror that Morty never seemed to get a break from. If Rick had not come to save him, if the bottle was smashed over his head, if Summer had never left and he found her broken frame one day, no longer stirring in her bed because she was the first one in her mother’s way. Morty ate breakfast alone the next morning, one finger playing with the corner of a sticky-note while the other hand forked pieces of toast into his mouth.

In scratchy handwriting, Rick wrote him that he’d be off-planet for a few days and that Morty didn’t have to go to school if he didn’t want to. A small blurb at the end read: P.S. Don’t worry about your mom, I took her to therapy. 

By the sounds of it, Morty didn’t have to do much of anything. It wasn’t like he was allowed to use Rick’s teleportation wrist-watch (a slimmer version of the portal gun that is limited to travel in its current dimension, the aquamarine portals are a beauty all by themselves) to get to school, or the grocery store, or anywhere, really. Not that he was up to go anywhere, either. Every time he stood up he felt a sickness in the back of his throat.

Rick doesn’t believe in therapy (not on Earth, anyway) so who knows where his mother actually is?

The clink of a glass and the closing of a cabinet came faintly to Morty’s ear. He turned around swiftly, but there was no one there. Morty sat at the dining table with a pang in his heart, looking at the two empty seats next to him. There were four chairs at the table, once, but never five. Morty was thankful that one had been carried into the garage for Rick to use, even if he had made his own far superior chair for his science lab days later.

Rick never asked who the empty chair was for and a lump grew in Morty’s throat each time he tried to tell his grandfather so that he never got around to it. Perhaps he’d be able to tell Rick the truth one day and he’d find Summer and bring her back safely.

Did Summer still love their mother? Did she miss her still, taking refuge in a friend’s house or sitting at a cafe? He wished he didn’t care about his mother, wished he’d be fine with never seeing her again and letting Rick do whatever he thought was necessary, but she was still his mother. It didn’t always use to be this way. He hated how the simple sound of a wine glass now made fear crawl down his spine and his legs screaming to take flight and run, get the hell out of there. Morty’s heart was as tattered as his family, and he wondered if they were doomed from the very beginning.

\-------------------------------

Night fell, but Morty didn’t turn on the lights in his room, only sat on his bed and stared off into space. Next to his desk was a standing mirror. He knew he probably looked more terrible than ever from months of not getting enough rest, and he didn’t want to look and see the ugliness of his reflection. Morty hugged his pillow tighter and focused on the whiteness of the boxers he was wearing, back leaning against the headboard of his bed.

_Morty, darling! Look over here!_

_You’re doing great, lil bro!_

_That’s my son!_

Morty was in third grade again, arms cutting through the water with all the strength he could muster, body twisting as he propelled himself forward. It was a lovely feeling, like he was flying in the undulating water. He turned his head to catch a glimpse of his mother, holding up a camera to record her son in his 200-meter race. He saw his sister, pumping her fist for him, if only out of politeness, and his father, pointing wildly at his son and grinning at the annoyed parents in the crowd whose view was being blocked by the derpy man standing dangerously close to the edge of the slippery pool.

Morty didn’t win of course, but that was a time when he could live with his imperfections. Morty’s hands twisted at the bed sheets until they burned, the pain keeping his head from floating off his shoulders. His vision blurred as he realized that he couldn’t tell his memories from dreams anymore.

Maybe all his life there was no true happiness, and he was just too young and stupid to realize that maybe all the smiles and “I love you”s were fake.

That lovely, gentle smile from years ago, the arms who took him up instead of hitting him, they were all fake. Nothing was real. Nothing. 

Footsteps coming down the hallway, liquid sloshing against glass, and the creak of a floorboard. Then again. It echoed louder and louder, knocking at his temples. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK. Morty’s chest began to hurt as his heartbeat sped up. He tried to get up but lost his balance tripping over a shirt he’d forgotten about left on the floor. He fell forward and his knees and elbows hit the wood painfully. Morty didn’t know what to do, only knew that the room was spinning and his head was spinning and he wanted, needed something to pull him out of it. His knees still throbbed, so he focused on that for a bit, clinging on to the physical pain like a buoy on the waves. 

Morty lifted his head to see the standing mirror in front of him. He looked a mess: eyes sunken and lackluster, though now with a streak of irrational terror dashing through his pupils. When did his t-shirt get so wrinkled? His eyes were locked on his reflection and he felt hot tears roll down his cheeks. A trembled cry bubbled up from Morty’s dry throat as he swatted the mirror suddenly. The tall thing fell sideways with a big crash, the pieces cracking into shards as they resettled in the frame. They glinted lovelily in the moonlight, scattering dappled streaks across Morty’s body and bed.

Without thinking, he grabbed a jagged piece and pulled it quickly across his bare leg. Blood oozed fervently out of the gash, and at first, Morty felt light-headed at the sight of it, more black than red in the cold light, but with the wound came relief. It felt backwards, but it worked, for now. He drew more lines down his thigh, mesmerized by the way the delicate skin split and left lines. He did the same to his other leg until all he saw was red crisscrossed over the pale flesh, tendrils hugging the marred limbs. Morty dropped the glass with a sigh, fingers bloody from gripping it too tightly.

No one emerged from beyond his door. The house was dead silent besides the small quick breaths the boy emitted. Morty saw his ugly, broken reflection in the mirror and began crying in earnest. He turned away with shame in his heart, ribcage heaving with unsteady breaths. No… the cuts were supposed to help, stop crying! He hated his voice, weak and thin and the only sound in his room.

\--------------------------

A green light filled the room suddenly, accompanied by the sound of a portal.

“Morty, I found a- Morty?”

The first thing he noticed was the mess. Morty’s mirror laid sideways. It had seemingly fallen over with a great force. Shards laid around the mirror and some powder from it was scattered around it. There were several small puddles of a dark liquid on the floor. The boy was faced away from him, back hunched, looking so small in the dim room. Rick noticed with shock that Morty’s shoulders were shaking.

Rick smelt it too, was able to catch the metallic taste in his nose as he flicked on Morty’s desk light. He turned back around to face Morty and his stomach dropped at the sight. The dark liquid has taken on a violent red, and there was no doubt now what it was now. Morty was crying so hard, and Rick’s heart gave a pang at how the boy wiped his tears away quickly, putting on a brave face for the last person he needed to do it for. 

If Rick hadn’t had the time to think about how to act, he would have yelled at Morty for even thinking about hurting himself, grabbed his face and forced him to see into his eyes and the decades of pain that laid behind them and how broken his unhealthy coping skills have made him. Instead, Rick tried to be the best he could in the foreign moment, skin prickly with nerves as he kneeled down to comfort Morty.

“Oh, Morty, no. No, don’t do that. Morty, baby, calm down, okay? Grandpa’s here.” Rick murmured softly, trying to smooth his habitually rough voice while sweeping away the glass and scooping the boy into his arms.

“Blood… getting- getting on y-your c-coat…” Morty shifted his legs worriedly, focused on the streaks of red that got onto Rick’s snow white coat.

“To hell with the coat, I care about you right now. Are you okay? I mean obviously you’re not okay, but you’re gonna be okay, okay?” Rick shot a portal and carried his grandson into the bathroom. He laid a towel on the toilet seat and gently placed Morty onto it, making sure he didn’t hit anything. Rick started a bath, and after some consideration put in bubbles as well. The room gradually steamed up and Morty relaxed against the tank of the toilet, the sound of the rushing water calming his nerves.

Rick reached an arm into a tiny portal and pulled out a vial of blue liquid.

“Here bab-Morty, drink this. It’ll fix your wounds up real quick.” He tapped at the boy’s lips for them to open and gently poured it into his mouth, one hand bracing the younger’s soft cheek. Morty leaned into the touch, the feel of Rick’s warm calloused hand the only real thing he has. The older man left it there for a moment longer, looking at the pure scene of his grandson virtually nuzzling his hand.

\------------------------------

Morty watched, mesmerized as his skin closed back together, though he felt a twinge of dismay, as if bloody and shredded was the natural state his skin should be in. The serum was like a miracle, zipping back up his wounds until there was no trace of them to begin with. No scars, just the blood, which can be washed away easily. He felt cheated somehow, that all his hard work had been undone with some blue Gatorade-looking drink, but blinked quickly right as he thought it. How could he possibly feel anything besides utter joy?

Morty’s gaze finally fluttered up from his bare legs. He nearly lost his breath, green eyes captivated by the pair of blue ones that were staring intensely at him. Rick’s brow was creased inwards with worry, since then having dropped into a crouch to be eye-level with the seated boy. Morty dropped his head quickly, unable to hold eye contact as another wave of shame flooded over him.

“Are you- are you mad at me?” Morty asked quietly, hating how flimsy he sounded.

His grandfather’s back straightened with a start, eyes widening.

“Oh God, Morty, no. I’m not mad at you at all. Just-” Rick took a deep breath. 

“The reason I was gone so abruptly today was because I felt… guilty. You can understand that, can’t you, Morty? I never knew how bad things have gotten and I let you get hurt. I couldn’t bear to face you. I took Beth to the best therapists in the galaxy but- it didn’t mean anything because I knew you were hurting at home. I knew, and I still left. Nothing today would have happened if I could have just sucked it up and been there for you. I’m so fucking dumb, Morty. Please, forgive me.” He looked imploringly at his grandson.

Morty was silent for a moment, but looked back up with a fierceness in his eyes.

“I don’t care about before, I care about now. And right now you’re here and- I never knew how much- how much I needed you.” Halfway through, Morty’s voice dropped below a whisper, and then it was gone.

Rick felt as if he had been stabbed. Whatever angry words, sad words, disappointed words that he deserved to have thrown at him, Morty kept. He kept them and Rick couldn’t help but be afraid that they’ll come back out in the form of more cuts.

A splashing sound came from the tub and Rick turned his head sharply. It was overflowing.

“Shit!” He ran to the faucet and quickly turned it off. The younger giggled from behind him. The laughter didn’t stop as Rick stared dejectedly at the water puddling onto the tiled floor.

“Stop laughing, you little turd!” Rick growled playfully, but in actuality, his heart was lighter than ever, glad that Morty was able to laugh still. It was a much better look on him, cheeks having gone pink from the steam and an open-mouthed smile. 

“You feel like a bath or no? I never asked.” Rick looked as though if Morty said no he’d fling the boy out a window, so Morty said yes. He pulled off his yellow t-shirt with a grimace, stretching out his back with a gigantic yawn. The pose showed off his smooth pink skin, the arch of his back guiding the eye pathway along his navel and-

“Um, Rick? Could you, like...” Rick was raptly attentive to Morty’s needs, but didn’t realize what he implied until he saw the kid’s hand at the waistband of his underwear.

“Oh! Y-yeah. Heh, sorry.” Wow, way to be a creepy grandfather. Rick backed out of the room quickly, closing it behind him.

\------------------------

Morty gingerly stood up, testing his legs, and was pleased to find that they worked like new, or the organic equivalent of new. He stepped nimbly over the bubbly water on the floor and sank with a blissful sigh into the tub. The water was comfortably warm against his skin, bubbles enveloping his form. Morty was young again, painful thoughts floating away from his mind as he stretched out his toes. A scandalous thought arose from the bubbles, reinforced by the fact that they covered his form sufficiently.

“R-Rick?” He called out to his grandfather. He was being selfish now, but he hoped.

“Yes, Morty?” The muffled voice came in response, waiting patiently outside the door.

“Would you- C-could you- help me wash my hair?” No, that was the wrong thing to say. What kind of person would ask his grandfather that? But... Rick’s fingers were long and caring and destroy worlds and build them back up from their ashes. How would they feel, running through his curls oh so gently? The capacity to do a billion things all humming quietly in his calloused fingertips, but Morty knew they’d only caress and soothe him, because Rick knew he needed it.

\--------------------------------

Wait, what the fuck? Rick bit back a mean remark about the little freak. Already, he itched for his flask and cursed human nature, that he could so quickly forget his mistakes and the need to atone for them. _Sanchez, you’re being manipulated. Your grandson is a manipulative shit!_ Rick opened the door again with a poorly disguised sigh.

“You wanted me out and now back in. I’m practically geriatric, Morty. Can’t make your sack of a grandpa run around like this.” He said it lightly but carefully, not sure if Morty was fit to take his style of humor again.

“Oh please,” The boy huffed. “You’re like, seventy. You’re _supposed_ to be geri- geriatric. Plus, I’d hardly say that- that you’d have wanted an eye-full of… you know...” He petered off, one hand reaching for the shampoo bottle.

“Sixty-four, Morty.” Oh god, sixty-four already. What was he doing, sidling up to his grandson at the edge of the tub, with the little knees peeking out of the foam?

“If you had wanted to wash your hair, you should have told me before I put in the bubbles.”

Morty’s hand stilled, his profile silent and looking away from Rick.

“S-sorry…” The older man muttered, never having quite needed or felt the need to be sensitive to the feelings of others. Of course, no one had stayed, then. He didn’t want Morty to let go, too.

Morty only let out a small breath. “C’mon, I’ve been waiting.” He angled his head of curls towards Rick, revealing a bit more of his nape to the blue-haired man, who was certainly not aiming to look at his bare back or neck. 

Rick took the shampoo bottle and pumped it a few times, rubbing the stickiness between his long fingers. Morty dipped his head into the bath to wet his hair and came back up with a small giggle, blinking away bits of lavender-scented foam from his eyelashes. All of a sudden, Rick’s throat felt very dry.

\---------------------

Morty poorly stifled a blissful moan as he felt Rick’s fingers run through his scalp. He looked quickly down at the bubbles, a smile stretching his cheeks. It was every bit as marvelous as he had hoped, Rick’s face lined but not tensed, looking much younger than when he’s hungover and grumpy. Rick had done away with the lab coat for now, but the soft blue cotton sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to reveal the firm muscles underneath and his form arched protectively over Morty’s smaller one. It was such a jarring situation to be in, when only hours prior he had been fearful and alone.

Both parties had made draining and getting out of the bathtub awkward, but afterwards Morty let himself be carried again, head leaning on Rick’s chest, his steady heartbeat leading Morty onwards. He wore fresh clean clothes, Rick swept up the pieces of the broken mirror, and everything felt good and beautiful, especially the gentle smile Rick wore through it all.

Morty settled into the covers as Rick flicked off the lights. The room was now comfortably dim, with the glow of the hallway illuminating it just enough. The old man sat at the edge of his bed, one hand petting his curls as he cleared his throat.

“Rick…” He whispered, “I’m too scared to f-fall asleep.” His green eyes looked at Rick in the darkness, and the man saw fear and sadness there from too many restless nights. Rick thought for a bit before replying.

“Do you know where I went today, Morty? I went to a really beautiful beach off-planet, and the view there is fantastic. The colors are soft and if you looked at the sky you could see the celestial bodies lined up and glowing and one up so close you can see the milky pink clouds in its atmosphere. It’s like if you ever see the Milky Way on a clear night, Morty, but a thousand times prettier. I stumbled upon it and I thought: ‘I gotta show Morty this.’ and I came back to take you there. Wouldn’t you like to see it soon, one day?”

The only sound of a reply was a soft and content snore in the quiet room.

**Author's Note:**

> yall, these just keep sucking
> 
> also, should i post my fics with smaller chapters instead? im not going to write a chapter at a time and a few thousand doesn't feel like too much, but if the formatting's confusing to you guys i'd totally try it ;u;
> 
> thank you for reading my trash fics <33 (also like?? tips for pacing?? would be great ;o;)


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